


Driver Picks

by mistyzeo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: samdeanexchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-12
Updated: 2010-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:19:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Driver picks the music, shotgun wants attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Driver Picks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fic/gifts).



> Podfic by Eos Rose [available here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/604262)

Four hundred seventy five miles from Louisville to Springfield, if they'd taken the interstate. But Dean fucking hated interstates, so they were taking the route that was five hundred eighteen miles, and two extra hours. Just because Dean disliked eight lane highways. Jerk. There was a reason Sam always wanted to drive, and it was the same reason Dean didn't let him.

They got wind of a haunting in a town south of Springfield. At first it was just a little blip in the newspaper, a couple of unexplained deaths all at once, but the MO was too familiar, too much of a pattern. Widowed army wives, young women, all four of them under forty years old. Looking back in the local papers, Sam found the rash of deaths every twenty six years, attributed the deaths to a Civil War soldier who had been obsessed with his wife and displeased when she went on living without him.

Dean had slammed the laptop closed, almost cutting Sam's fingers off, and said, "Easy as pie. Let's go."

It was summer, late June, and hot. Route 60 stretched out in front of them, and Dean was driving easy, one elbow out the window, slouched back in his seat, knees wide. He'd stripped all his layers down to his single gray t-shirt, and Sam found his eyes wandering over to his brother more and more often. The scenery was boring, trees trees trees farm trees, and he'd recovered an hour ago from the immediate knockout effect riding in the car had on him.

Plus, they were on their third repetition of CCR's _Bayou Country_ , and Sam was starting to get sick of it.

"Dean, seriously."

Dean grinned without turning his head, flashing teeth and adjusting his hand on the wheel. "What?"

"Can we listen to _anything_ else? Anything? Zeppelin? Public radio? Anything."

Dean pursed his lips in a mockery of consideration, and Sam could see himself reflected in the corner of Dean's sunglasses. "Nope."

Sam felt inclined to whine. Twenty four years old, and the tactic still worked. "Dean, _please_?"

Not this time. "Rules are rules, Sammy," Dean replied, turning up the music.

Well, fine. It appeared Sam was going to have to entertain himself, maybe take Dean's mind off the music, off the road, off the rules. He sighed, exaggerating, overly dramatic, and sank back into his seat. He spread his legs, stretching one foot into the foot well and hitching the other knee up to press against the arm rest on the inside of the door. Dean glanced over, disinterested, and then back at the road, tilting his head back. Sam wanted to reach out and touch: the light prickle of stubble on Dean's jaw, the stretch of his soft, worn t-shirt over his chest and arms, the drop of sweat sneaking its way down the back of Dean's neck.

"Take a picture, bitch," Dean grumbled, "it'll last."

"Mmm," Sam agreed, sliding his hand low across his stomach, shirt rubbing smooth and soft over his skin. He was already getting hard just thinking about it, showing off for Dean. He loved it in a weird, twisted, little-brother kind of way. He loved having Dean's attention on him, loved making Dean watch him, thrilled at seeing Dean get all flustered, blush rising in his face, trying not to touch himself in response. Sam thought about getting himself off while Dean drove, trying to keep the car under control, desperate to look and touch and fuck. They'd played this game before, but Sam wanted to make it better, get Dean higher, hotter, crazier. He stifled a little shuddering sigh and flicked open the button of his jeans.

Dean was ignoring him, singing too loud, and Sam's soft inhale went unheard under Dean yowling, "In the midnight, hear me cryin' out her name!" as he palmed himself through the denim. The thick ridge of his cock was snug against his thigh, and the scratch of his fingernails along the length made him shiver, low in his gut, hot want pooling. He curled his fingers around his cock, little finger resting against the head, thumb up against the vee of his legs, and he squeezed lightly. His dick was hot through his jeans, hard and unyielding, and he rubbed up towards his crotch, fingers slipping underneath to rub at his balls.

The little surprised grunt that slipped out didn't go unnoticed, and Sam knew the instant Dean's eyes were on him. He tipped back his head and flicked his tongue out, wetting his lip, pushing his hips up into his hand.

Dean muttered, "Shit," and Sam smirked. "Knock it off, Sam."

Sam blinked open his eyes, heavy lidded, and tilted his chin to look at Dean. "What."

"Sammy." Dean's voice had an edge of warning in it, but a whole lot of something else too. "Don't do that."

The shaky breath Sam took was unintentional, his pinkie slipping against the head of his cock, but it did the trick. Dean reached over to turn down the music, and then his hand was on Sam's knee, edging upwards.

"Hands off," Sam said, bouncing his knee and knocking Dean's hand away. Dean put it back on the wheel and glared at the road ahead. Sam couldn't see his eyes, but the furrow in his forehead and his white-knuckled grip said the road better not get any less empty, because he was trying too hard to pay attention to actually be paying attention.

Sam bit his lip and moaned again, shifting his hips and letting go of his other thigh to unzip his jeans. He pushed against the foot well, shoved his jeans down around his hips.

Dean murmured, "Take it out, Sammy, wanna see you."

Oh fuck. Sam whined, low in his throat, cock twitching. He shoved his hand inside and sucked in a breath when his fingers met the smooth, sensitive skin of his dick. He pulled it out, fingers curling, and pushed his jeans down farther, sliding the elastic of his boxers under his balls. Dean exhaled sharply, fingers clenching, and Sam thumbed over the head of his cock, slipping in the wet already gathered, zipping pleasure like electricity in his blood.

"Go for it," Dean said, loud in the silence between songs, and Sam pushed up into the circle of his fist. He wanted to tease it out, make it last, make Dean beg for him to come slick and hot over his hand, make a mess. Dean took off his sunglasses and his eyes were dark as sin, and Sam couldn't hold back. He slid down in the seat and shoved his shirt up, and Dean instantly let go of the steering wheel again. He had his hand on Sam's abs before Sam could deter him, and he pressed his thumb into the groove of Sam's hip, fingers splaying across his stomach.

Sam's hips hitched, his breath catching, pushing up against Dean's hand. He could feel the muscles in his stomach flexing under Dean's fingers, heard Dean hum in approval, and his cock jerked, getting harder. Sam leaked so fucking much when he-- or Dean-- was touching him like this, and his knuckles were covered in pre-come, his fingertips slipping and sliding, and he had to grip harder to keep his pace slow.

"God damn it, Sam," Dean muttered, pulling his hand away and putting on the blinker. Sam had a momentary image of Dean pulling over on the side of the road, throwing the car into park, and then sucking Sam's dick down his throat, or fucking him up against the door. He moaned, eyes closing, but-- fuck, no, that wasn't the plan.

"Don't," Sam said suddenly, breath stuttering out of him. "Keep driving, Dean." He took a slower breath and opened his eyes. Dean was staring at him, both eyebrows drawn up in surprise, eyes flicking to the road every couple of seconds. "It's empty," Sam went on. "And we've got a long drive; you said so."

"Fuck," Dean said. "So, what, you just gonna jerk off over there and make me listen? Then what?"

Sam grinned. He loosened his fist and slid his hand down to the base of his cock, letting go just enough to cup his fingers around his balls, all drawn up tight and full. He took a slow breath. His hair was in his eyes and he shook it out, tipping his head back again. "Then I'll suck you off, if you're good."

He watched Dean's fingers clench on the wheel, hips giving a little aborted thrust into nothing. Sam echoed it with his own body, squirming against his unmoving hand, and then Dean's fingers came to rest back on his knee. Dean's palm was warm through Sam's jeans, and Sam could almost feel his rough, strong fingers circling his cock, dragging up, pressing under the head, thumb rubbing into his slit.

"Shit, Dean," he hissed, closing his hand again and starting to jack in earnest: long pulls that had him shaking and digging his heel into the foot well of the car, pushing into his hand, arching his back. Dean's hand squeezed his knee, rubbing a small circle, and then Dean let go and Sam watched him drop that same hand into his lap. His knees eased apart, foot slipping for a second on the gas. Sam reached out to slap his shoulder and ended up just grabbing instead, like Dean was an anchor.

"Wait your turn, asshole," he growled, "or you'll get us killed."

Dean snorted a laugh, glancing over again, rubbing the heel of his hand down into the ridge in his jeans. "Hard to fucking wait when you're doing that. Look so good."

Sam huffed, twisting his wrist, clenching the fingers of his other hand in the sleeve of Dean's t-shirt. The fabric was soft; it twisted easily, distorting, and Dean was rocking his hips against his hand slowly.

"Fuck," he said, voice gone tight, "You're such a little bitch, Sam, makin' me wait. I wanna pull over right now and fuck you on the hood, get my hands on that tight ass of yours. God, Sam, fuckin' look at you. You want that so bad, don't you?"

Sam bit into his lip, hard, nodding, pumping his fist. God, he did. The Impala's hood would be scorching under his hands, and Dean would be hot and heavy at his back, splitting Sam open on his thick cock, one hand on his shoulder, the other at his hip. Dean would bite the back of his shoulder, leave a mark, and Sam would come all over the hood, and Dean would probably bitch about it afterwards.

"Come on," Dean hissed, "Come on, fuck, Sam, wanna watch you come. God, wish I could watch you better, come on baby."

The orgasm hit Sam like a Mack truck, shooting up his spine, and then his cock was stiff and pulsing in his fist and he was creaming the front of his shirt. His knee hit the dashboard, brief shock of pain, and he groaned through his teeth, shuddering at the heat of it. Dean's eyes on him, fuck, watching and wanting and waiting, and a last pulse of pleasure shot through him.

"Fuck yeah," Dean breathed when Sam finally slumped back against the door. Sam pushed his hair out of his face with the back of his wrist and wiped his hand off on his shirt, slanting a grin at his brother. Dean was driving the slowest Sam had seen him-- sixty five-- and was popping the button of his jeans, easing down the zipper.

"Here," Sam said, hitching his pants back up and crawling across the seat. He pushed Dean's hand away and opened Dean's jeans himself, shoving a hand in to pull out Dean's dick. It was thick and hard and leaking, wet and sticky. Sam let out a breath and Dean jerked. He flicked out his tongue, licking Dean's crown, and Dean stifled a moan in his throat.

"This is such a bad idea," Dean muttered, letting go of the wheel with one hand to cup the back of Sam's head. Sam smiled and licked again, slower this time, and Dean's fingers clenched in his hair as he sighed. Sam opened his mouth, taking Dean's cock in an inch, and Dean squirmed in his seat. Sam could see his abs tensing, could tell he was trying not to fuck up into Sam's mouth, and Sam rewarded him by sinking down another inch. Dean had showered the night before, and his heady scent was muted slightly by the smell of hotel soap. But he tasted fresh and salty and warm, and Sam couldn't help moaning a little himself. That time Dean did push his hips up, and Sam opened his throat up just in time.

Dean's moan might have been a word-- might have been Sam's name-- but then Sam heard the hitch of his breath.

"Goddamn," Dean said, pressing on Sam's head, "shit, stay down, there's a car." Sam tried to lift his head anyway, and Dean's hand tightened. "Fuck, I'm serious, stay put. Oh God, don't. Stop doing that."

Sam ignored him, swallowing around the thick length in his throat. Dean whined helplessly, and Sam twisted so he could rub the head of Dean's cock against the roof of his mouth. The salty burst of pre-come had him moaning again, muffled, and Dean's hips jerked when Sam slid his tongue along the side of his shaft.

Dean hissed, "Sam, Sam, come on man," legs splaying wider, trapped by the door and the console. He was shaking, pushing up into Sam's mouth even as he tried to hold Sam still with his one hand.

"He's passing us, ah shit," Dean whispered, like the other driver would hear him, and Sam tried to relax his neck. At least Dean was letting him breathe, he thought, finding better balance with his hand on the floor between Dean's feet. Finally he heard the sound of the car passing them on the left, and Dean let out a sigh of relief, which was quickly replaced by a startled moan when Sam pulled off with a tight instant of suction, and then set about licking the base of his cock and tonguing at his balls.

"So was that 'stop' or 'don't stop', Dean?"

"Shut up," Dean growled, fingers tightening again. Sam winced, steadying himself with a hand on Dean's knee, and he could feel the tremors running through Dean's body. Dean was close, and the pressure of Sam's hand on his knee pushed his foot down on the gas a fraction. Dean jerked away sharply, gasping, and Sam took his cock back into his mouth. He set a rapid pace, not wanting to draw it out anymore, wanting to get Dean there fast and hard, wanting to feel him come apart under his hands and mouth.

Dean was cursing, half-laughing as he panted for breath, and Sam tucked his other hand behind Dean's ass, against the seat. He rubbed his thumb against the small of Dean's back, and Dean arched, pushing up against his face, driving his dick deeper into Sam's throat. It was cramped there between Dean's body and the Impala's steering wheel, getting messy, and Dean's cock was huge and unyielding in his mouth. The angle was strange, unfamiliar, but the way Dean shook and swore and tried to fuck up into his mouth was pretty par for the course.

"Goddamn it," Dean said above him, through his teeth, "gonna, Sam, fuck, I'm gonna come."

Sam moaned in encouragement, letting go of Dean's knee to wrap those fingers around the base of Dean's cock, stroke his balls with his pinkie, and jack Dean in his fist as he sucked him. Dean shuddered, hips jerking, and Sam had a second's warning. He knew Dean's tells like his own, felt the swell of Dean's cock, heard the sharp intake of breath, felt his balls tighten further under his fingers, felt Dean's hand go painfully tight in his hair, and then Dean was coming, filling Sam's mouth, spurting and groaning and shuddering.

The car tires thudded over the center line reflectors for three seconds before Dean jerked the wheel back and realigned in his lane, panting.

Sam lifted his head and wiped his face on Dean's jeans, swallowing against the slippery thickness in his throat.

"Oh, fuck you," Dean muttered, pushing Sam's head away, and Sam laughed and sank back into his seat, shaking his hair out of his face and sighing. Dean's eyes on him were warm and soft, fond, and the smile at the corner of his mouth wasn't a smirk so much as it was a stifled grin. Sam zipped up his jeans and stretched his shoulders, easing one hand over the back of the seat to rest on the back of Dean's neck. He ruffled the short, soft hair at the base of Dean's skull, and Dean sighed quietly, still coming down.

"So can we change the music now?" Sam asked, and Dean blinked at him.

Then he grinned, eyes crinkling, and he reached for the tape deck.

"Yeah all right," Dean said, and Sam was almost shocked at his acquiescence. "But I'm picking." And Sam wasn't so surprised after all.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Driver Picks / written by mistyzeo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/604262) by [EosRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EosRose/pseuds/EosRose)




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